


Dutch Courage

by cazflibs



Series: Pished [1]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: It's Lister's 50th birthday and, unbeknownst to one another, Lister and Rimmer each want to use the opportunity to confess how they really feel.But first, a drink or two. After all, a little Dutch Courage never did any harm. Right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I totally didn't come up with this fic idea at 2am after drinking too much rum. Absolutely not. Nope.

It was all going to be absolutely _perfect_ , Rimmer thought to himself.

Not only was it Lister’s 50th birthday -- Rimmer frowned, straightening the plate of cakes self-consciously -- it would also be the day that he _finally_ told Lister that he -- Rimmer re-adjusted the plate again nervously. Well, yes. _That_. 

After his Drive Room shift had ended, Rimmer had spent the entire afternoon decorating their shared Sleeping Quarters ready for the evening celebrations. He'd managed to find some balloons and streamers. He'd even baked. 

Rimmer cast a critical eye over the coffee table where two ice buckets sat in expectant wait. One with two bottles of champagne for him and the Cat - who, with Kryten, would join them later that evening after their Drive Room shift - and the other stocked with Leopard Lager for the birthday boy himself. Everything was ready.

Agitated eyes darted across to the clock. Still an hour and a half left until Lister would return from his shift. Lean fingers drummed nervously against his thigh as he eyed the champagne suspiciously.

Well, one glass wouldn't do any harm. A little Dutch Courage was all it needed. Just enough to grease the cogs, as it were. Get things moving in the right direction.

Rimmer began to peel away the foil from the cork before unwinding the metal loop. Confessing to Lister how he _really_ felt about him would be a similarly delicate operation. But with a careful, steady approach - he thumbed cautiously and firmly at the cork - and _just_ the right amount of determination - _POP!_ The champagne bottle burst cheerfully, and he allowed himself a wry smile. He'd be bang on course.

The evening had been planned like a military campaign. Rimmer toasted to his sure success. Everything would be perfect.

******

Fifty.

_Fifty._

Smegging hell, how did that happen?

However, despite his lament, it might have been that wrenching sense of realisation surrounding his own mortality that had given him the kick up the arse he'd needed.

Lister had to tell him the truth. Just spit it out and tell Rimmer how he _really_ felt about him.

The only problem was, Lister knew exactly how the hologram would react if he told him whilst he was sober. The Sleeping Quarters would sport a cartoon-esque hole as the man enacted his best Roadrunner impression.

No, he had to time his confession with finesse. With a delicate approach.

He had to wait until Rimmer was a bit tipsy.

Now, the only problem with this approach, was that Rimmer only allowed himself to have a drink on special occasions - birth/death days and Christmas - Lister knew this all-too-well. There was, therefore, a rather small window of opportunity to catch him at his most amenable.

Aging boots traipsed nervously down the corridor. They'd have a drink - Lister squirmed - okay, maybe _two_ drinks, and then he'd tell Rimmer exactly how he felt about him. He nodded firmly. Right, _that's_ what he'd do. After all, a little Dutch Courage never hurt anybody.

Lister palmed open the door to their shared sleeping quarters and immediately grinned happily. The entire room had been meticulously decorated with balloons and streamers; the coffee table in front of the sofa already laden with cake, an ice bucket of Leopard Lager, and --

\-- his eyebrows dropped, confused. Two empty bottles of champagne…

“Heyyyyy!” Rimmer cried loudly, his rather over-enthusiastic welcoming gesture a little too rough for the champagne flute in his hand, spilling a quarter of its contents in the process. “It’sssthe Happy Birthday boy!”

“Erm - yeah!” Lister cheered back, a tad less enthused, more utterly bemused. “You've - erm - you've started without me, I see!”

“Ahh! Yes, well, it’s-ssspecial occasion!” Rimmer explained, his voice two octaves higher than normal. “Come-come-come -- ” he gestured wildly for Lister to join him on the sofa before patting the leather hard. “Sssit down and enjoy your-your birthday.”

Lister approached him carefully, as if the sofa was sat on a creaking thin layer of ice that was sure to break at any moment. He stifled a smirk. “How much have you had, Rimmer?” 

Both the hologram’s shoulders and mouth bunched in a theatrical shrug, as if an invisible thread had pulled up the loose parts of his body all at once in some form of bizarre puppetry. “Jussa couple, I think,” he slurred, up-ending the second bottle into his glass. A tell-tale dribble dripped out. “Oh,” he surmised.

A jet of air whistled through Lister’s teeth. A couple of _bottles_ sounded about right. That said, it was probably just the right amount needed, given what he was about to confess. Forget softening the blow. Rimmer was unlikely to even bloody notice.

The pair sat in an awkward silence as Lister fished out a can of Leopard Lager from the bucket. He paused unnecessarily, allowing the droplets of water to drip off before cracking it open noisily. He'd never usually bother with such formalities. He was stalling for time, and he knew it. Lister slugged back as much as he could in one breath before turning to face him.

“Okay, listen.” Lister licked the foam off his lips, throwing out the words like the first move in a chess game. “There's something I need to talk to you about, man.”

Rimmer blinked twice, raising his eyebrows to his hairline, as if the very act would keep his eyes open. “Abssssolutely. I'm listening.”

“See, the thing is - ”

“My attentions-is totally on you.”

“Right. Okay - ”

“I'm ready to -- ”

“ _Rimmer_ ,” the Scouser frowned, pained. “Usually in order to listen, y’have to shut the smeg up.”

Rimmer nodded to himself. That sounded about right. “Course-sssorr-sorry.”

 _Okay._ Lister forced himself to look Rimmer directly in the eye. The man seemed to be keeping true to his word. Despite the almost imperceptible swaying, he was focusing as intently as he could on Lister’s face; although his eyebrows clearly couldn't quite decide whether they were frowning in concentration or raised in expectation.

Lister swallowed. He was going to come right out and say it.

No beating about the bush.

He was just going to come _right_ out and say it.

“Rimmer - ”

In a flash of drunken inspiration, Rimmer suddenly lunged forward, silencing Lister’s well-rehearsed speech with a mash of lips.

Lister blinked rapidly, eyes darting about the room before plucking himself away. He snorted a cocktail of shock and bemusement. “Woah, where did that come from?” he blurted. True, it was rather nice. But this wasn't how it was meant to go at all. He had a plan. He'd planned it.

“Issa surprise! Birthday! And - wait, I'm doing this backwards -- ” Rimmer’s brow knotted, confused, his mouth clammed up as it tried to sort through the now-jumble of words that had sat oh-so-poised and ready only a couple of hours before. 

Rimmer purposefully straightened his face, in what he hoped would look terribly assertive. “Listy - ” he began, waving a finger in the man’s face before promptly throwing in the towel and launching _himself_ at the face instead.

The kiss was ravenous and needy, if not a _little_ sloppy and off the mark. But the fervent noises that spilled from behind locked lips and his rather evident horniness quickly sparked a similar reaction from Lister who returned the kiss with equal gusto.

This was _perfect_ , Lister thought to himself happily, finally allowing his hands to roam the body that was both familiar yet unexplored. No fussing over words or confessions, just smegging well going for it. He'd answer to this now and then they'd ask questions later.

Drunken, fumbling hands began to slip down to Lister’s crotch.

Tomorrow, when -- when - 

A lone soldier in the ‘Morals and Ethics’ part of his brain trumpeted a loud, unpopular Last Post. Lust flung open the window and yelled at him to shut the smeg up. 

Oh, for smeg’s sake… With a great deal of effort, Lister gently pushed the hologram away.

“Rimmer,” he began carefully, sucking experimentally at his bottom lip. God, he could still taste the man. He shook it off quickly and snared Rimmer's eye contact as he blinked back, unsteady. “I wanna do this. I really do. But - ” Lister sighed, taking in the wholly inebriated, sorry sight sat beside him. “ - I can't be 100% sure that you do.”

“No-no-no-no -- I do! Absssolutely!” Rimmer assured merrily. He licked his lips, staring intently at Lister’s mouth. _“Once more unto the breach - !”_ he recited, face mock-solemn; before the dedicated binge won the battle and his eyes fluttered closed as he sank into Lister’s lap instead. 

Rolling his eyes, Lister shook his head as the man began to snore loudly. Sadly, he thought there would have been more interesting prospects at having Rimmer’s face in his crotch.

Sitting back, he took a swig of his lager. Oh well. There was always Christmas.


End file.
